Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/25/2019

Over the ridge,
among endless green valleys,
that divides but also unites
- the sky has spread
with blue,
and since centuries lasting
with an image:
with prayer mine
and yours
to God not always
the same
- because mine they've clad
with an armor of delusions,
and yours they've dragged
dead
onto the stakes burning
with despair,
so that hot ruins
he'd resurrect.
But tears of Hope
are continually being shed on
borders connecting
two gods.

Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001